Mirth
by emily.down
Summary: Jim Moriarty pays Molly Hooper a visit of curiosity. And you know what they say about curiosity and the cat...


Her flat was not much different. In fact, he was quite sure it was the same, but for a few articles discarded here and there, showing more of her usual carelessness than when he was around. She always made such a poor job of appearing to be tidy.

There was no trace of him, no personal items he had left behind. They could hardly be called personal, however, as they had been part of his 'Jim the dopey IT employee' persona. Still, he would have liked for her to keep them as a souvenir. No sentimentality, he just wanted to know she'd pine a little. And suffer some form of trauma. I mean he'd gone head on into a painful relationship for _her_ sake, hoping and depending on some emotional scarring to satisfy and make up for the last two months of complete idiocy.

Because it had been idiocy to prolong it for as much as he had. But then again he was a bit of a trained masochist and he immensely enjoyed pouring himself into a parallel existence he'd never be able to revisit otherwise.

He had been very quiet coming in, but he heard stirring from the bathroom. The door was slightly ajar.

Now, he supposed this was a very bad time (which made it all the better) because she was currently taking a bath and she was extremely naked in the lukewarm water, holding a book in her hand...and was that a glass of wine?

Well, everyone liked to indulge from time to time.

He walked into her bathroom without even flinching, his crisp black suit reflecting black sparks into the wet tiles.

Molly's eyes fell on him two seconds too late. Sprinting up and jumping out of the water was no longer a solution seeing as he pushed the door shut with his foot.

"Now, now, no need for you to get up, Molly dear. Unless you want me to hand you a towel," he said merrily, eyeing her up and down.

There were fear and shock clearly written on her face and a whole lot of other undecipherable emotions that were not worth considering, but one thing was for sure. She was not about to feel ashamed or embarrassed in front of him, which took him by surprise. He guessed all those nights of boring intercourse were finally paying off.

She just stood there, like a deer in the headlights, hoping he'd vanish, but not betraying any self-consciousness or shame.

"No, t-thank you," she replied hoarsely. "I'm fine."

"Not cold?" he asked, feigning concern.

She shook her head and pressed the glass of wine to her lips. She almost spilt it entirely in the water.

He chuckled. He had to admire her astounding and absurd courage.

"I suppose you've given my visit some thought by now," he began again cheerily. "Otherwise you wouldn't be ogling at me with that bovine expression on your face."

Molly quickly shut her mouth and dropped the glass on the floor.

There was a bit of a crash.

"Oh, look at the mess you've made! You'd better clean it up or else you might step on the shards!" he shrieked, feigning sternness.

"I don't...I'm not...whatever you've heard, I haven't told anyone anything, I don't even know you, I don't care what happened, I haven't told a soul –" she began, stammering all throughout incoherently.

"Oh, leave that off, I know you haven't breathed a word. Mainly because you had nothing to go on and you'd be too dead scared to utter anything that would harm your puny little body or your precious fat cat. You really are hopelessly considerate, you know that? You really think I was worried about that?" he asked, standing against the edge of the tub, arms crossed, a sweet smile plastered on his face. It brought dark crinkles to his face that made it all the more lugubrious.

"Then why are you here, Jim? If not to...to check on me? Or maybe you've come to..." she trailed off, shutting her eyes and taking in a deep breath, as if expecting her words to materialize.

"Kill you?" he finished for her. "Naah, not now, it would sort of defeat the purpose, wouldn't it? And you'd be expecting it, so cross that off my shopping list. But I might do you in someday, when you're misbehaving."

Molly popped one eye upon and stared at his hand hovering over the water. She shifted, as if knowing he would try to grab her.

"Dear me, Molly, I'm only wetting my finger a little..." he murmured amused, sinking three fingers into the water.

He was not ready for it though, as he'd gotten progressively warm inside, and the shock of it made him whirl a bit. He almost lost his balance.

Molly remained as still as wax and watched him carefully.

He drew back and whistled to himself in astonishment.

"Good Lord, Moll, that's...I bet it's almost frozen," he said, testing the water again, to make sure he wasn't imagining things.

It was as cold as he could bear. Hell, even colder than that. It was like standing in a refridgerator. He withdrew his hand.

She shrugged her shoulders and sank further into the water, as if relishing the feeling.

"You shouldn't be able to lie in it like a fucking plant," he muttered darkly, thinking that she was doing this to spite him, foolishly.

"It's all right. It doesn't bother me..." she explained, watching him warily.

"Had I known you were...coming, I wouldn't have drawn a bath," she added, trying to appease him.

Jim narrowed his eyes at her. He lunged and grabbed her wrist before she could prevent it.

He checked her pulse. It was normal. And her skin was warm, her temperature was not below the average degree. That was not logically possible.

Tears started forming in her eyes out of nowhere.

"Please don't hurt me, I won't tell a soul –"

"Why are you crying, my dear? Have I hurt you so far?" he asked, running his thumb over her impossibly warm skin. How in the world was it _still_ so warm?

"Physically? No," she acquiesced, pulling her hand away.

"Well, then..." he began, letting her hand fall back into the water with a sickening splash.

Jim felt an odd tickling sensation in his head, like a needle pinching him in a place he couldn't reach. It was oddly invigorating, but strangely humiliating as well. As if something were affecting him without his permission.

That's when he realized that he was at a loss for words. Somehow, halfway through this visit that hadn't even begun he'd lost his sense of what was real. He was no longer sure.

And a minute ago he had been.

His eyes landed on the broken shards and he suddenly got an idea, a demented one at that. But he had never tried applying brute force on her before. He picked up one of the pieces and held it to the light.

Molly watched him mesmerised, unable to look away.

"You're right. I've never hurt you _physically_," he muttered.

With a swift move, he grabbed her neck and held it above the water, feeling the pulse go haywire.

He pressed the sharp edge of glass against her neck and pushed in, until he felt her skin ripple like a fan splitting into several folds.

She did not move or draw back or even squirm. Not even a flinch. Still as the tiles under his feet.

Once she felt the pressure, her eyes slowly screwed shut and she exhaled a sigh of relief, her shoulders relaxing, her head rolling back in pleasure. Her lips formed a small, triangular smile that unnerved him completely.

A thin line of red trickled down her neck and she leant further into his touch, a throaty mewl escaping her mouth.

One of her absurdly warm hands covered his and he thought (and hoped) she was going to push him away, but she only tightened his grip on the blade, massaging his fingers in a loving gesture, following the rhythm and speed of her own spilt blood.

This was his undoing.

He dropped both the shard of glass and her neck and slipped and fell backwards on the floor.

Molly dived like a mermaid back into the waters and covered her wound with her hands.

His 700£ suit was now mopping her bathroom floor. He looked up at the cracked ceiling and felt the urge to throw up.

But he got up and propped one hand against the wall.

Molly, who was now sitting again, parted the water with her head and pulled the hair out of her face.

Her fingers were red and sticky, pressed over the rupture in her neck.

"You said you would kill me if I misbehaved," she reproached, staring at him with pleading, gentle eyes, a look of sadness slipping into her dark irises.

What was that tone for? That reproachful tone? What was that sadness? Was she upset he hadn't finished it? Or was she upset he had attempted it?

"Please don't hurt me. I haven't told anyone, I haven't told a soul, I don't even know you, I don't care what happened," she began rambling all of a sudden with renewed force.

Jim blinked. His hands were red, his suit was wet and his forehead was burning. He had no idea what to do, how to proceed. He couldn't even understand what she was saying. It made no sense. Why was she begging him not to hurt her when...? Why did she keep repeating those things like a machine? It all felt like a frame in a dream.

"Stop it," he breathed out, feeling trapped.

"Please, Jim, it's all forgotten, I haven't told anyone, please don't hurt me, I haven't told a soul," she repeated, tears trickling down her cheeks as her mouth once again moulded into that smile that was so disgusting, so wane, so wishy-washy.

"Stop it, Molly!" he bellowed angrily.

"And if you spare me, I promise I won't ever tell anyone, anyone. I won't tell a soul-"

"Do you hear me? Stop it! Just stop it! Shut up!" he yelled into her face, his eyes bulging out of their sockets.

"...it's not like I have someone to tell, it's all forgotten, I swear, no one knows. No one has to know. I won't tell a soul!" she kept repeating manically.

He lunged forward to make her stop, to twist her neck, to drown her, to rip her tongue out, _anything_, when a set of small, strong hands suddenly landed on his chest and before he knew what was happening, he was pushed back onto the floor, her tiny wet body covering his.

He fell right on top of the shards of glass. And the very sharp one he had used on Molly's sweet neck now pierced the back of his skull.

The pain coursed through him like a deadly shot of poison. He felt his body going rigid before a warm stillness took over him.

He realized the glass had only just skimmed the skin on the back of his head, he wasn't really –

"It's all right, Jim, it's going to be our little secret. I won't tell anyone," Molly cooed softly, straddling him as she pushed his head into the shard of glass, until he felt that final pop, that final release that told him there weren't many chances of him –

"I won't tell a soul," she repeated, standing over him like an ancient celestial creature, her stark nakedness made all the more beautiful by the evident expression of mirth on her face.

Right there, right under her eyelashes.

Mirth.

The realization hit him all too late.


End file.
